


Half Strangled

by stormboxx



Category: True Detective
Genre: Closeted, Dogs, Implied Relationships, M/M, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Selfishness, Suppressed Feelings, True Detective - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 12:49:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormboxx/pseuds/stormboxx
Summary: Tom leaving, it doesn't sit right with him for several reasons. One of them being a really selfish one, he's ashamed to admit. Even to himself.





	Half Strangled

**Author's Note:**

> Just my take on what's going through West's mind as he sees Tom leaving his house behind. Many might not be on this R/T train, but I really just like their chemistry, and this tumbled out.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

**Half Strangled**

 

 

“Where ya goin´?”

 

It leapt out, half a sigh and half strangled.

 

In front of him was a broken man. Roland despised himself for thinking of his own needs when Tom Purcell obviously needed help just to keep standing on his feet.

 

The eyes, the scared, glassy eyes, reminded Roland of a dog his grandpa used to keep, way back when. It’d been run over, its hind legs crushed, when it was 9 years old. Dragged itself around that old house, between the carpet in front of the beat-up chair in the living room, to the water bowl by the stairs. The floorboards bore evidence of the dog dragging itself back and forth, even long after the dog was gone. A lighter hue, a path, was etched into the boards between the two rooms and stayed that way until the day his grandpa was gone, too.  
Roland recalled how he would never go near that dog; its head would snap around if you came closer than three feet, low growl rolling out from behind sharp teeth. Once, before knowing better, he’d tried before his grandpa snatched him away.

 

_Don’t go pettin’ that old bitch, boy! She don’t trust nobody no more._

Those eyes were pleading, always, he remembered. The dog constantly staring at him when he was there, with those big, glassy, scared eyes _. Shoot me_ , they seemed to say. _Put me out of my misery._ They didn’t. Five more years she lived like that, and eventually died from kidney failure. Oldest damn dog to ever live on that street.

 

Tom Purcell’s eyes seemed to beg for something similar. Roland wondered if Purcell wanted to die, holding his gaze like that old, nervous dog used to. _Put me out of my misery._ He wanted to.

 

“Nowhere.”

 

_I’ll help you, Tom. Stick around, man. Ain’t nobody around these parts able to help you more than me._

Giving Purcell his house phone number was safe, he knew that. No-one could question that. Just a police officer doing his job, giving Mr. Purcell an opportunity to get in contact if need be.

_We’ll help each other._

As he drove down Shoepick lane, Tom Purcell’s car slowly disappearing from his rear-view mirror, Roland felt ashamed. There was no way to justify what he’d just done. Should his superiors ask, then sure, he’d be able to justify it just fine. But never to himself. Hoping Purcell would pick up the phone and ask for, well, what exactly? It wouldn’t happen, so it didn’t matter.

 

But hope was a stubborn companion, wasn’t it? Almost like an old dog, wanting to die, but refusing to give up.  
He’d tell himself that, and somehow be okay with it.

 

After all, for men like them, the only way to live was to keep hoping.

 

 

 


End file.
